The Way of Things
by slyprentice
Summary: D'Artagnan has always had a name upon his wrist.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: The Way of Things  
**Author**: Prentice (slyprentice)  
**Category**: The Musketeers (BBC)  
**Genre**: Romance, Soul Bond, Drabble  
**Ship**: Athos/d'Artagnan  
**Overall Rating**: PG  
**Warnings: Unbeta'd so beware. **  
**Author's Note**: _I wrote this because of a soul mark prompt on tumblr. I have no regrets. _

**Summary**: D'Artagnan has always had a name upon his wrist.

* * *

D'Artagnan has always had a name upon his wrist. Jagged and surprisingly delicate looking, it is a splash of dark ink against the heel of his palm; a looping whorl of letters that looks like it should be upon an official scroll rather than the arch of his wrist. It is a declaration, he thinks, an official seal. One that denotes him as the future mate of _this _man with _this _name and no one else's, as it should be.

He doesn't mind – neither that t is a man nor that it is a name that he is unfamiliar with. His aunt had married a travelling merchant from Spain, after all; the looping letters of his name crawling their way up her arm in a pretty band that she hadn't even known how to say much less how to look for. So, no, he doesn't mind and it doesn't bother him.

He will find his way to this man or this man will find his way to him. Either way, they will find each other. That is how Soul Marks work – they lead you to where you need to go, wherever that might be in the world, and helped you to recognize one another for what you are and will be, one day, to each other.

It is, as they say in Gascony, the way of things.


	2. Chapter 2

_I have a thing for wee!d'Artagnan right now. He's so cute and cuddly. That having been said, not every chapter will be such a short drabble. I just wanted to get this up while I had the chance. :)_

* * *

'A-t-h-o-s.'

These are the first letters that d'Artagnan learns when he is nothing more than a babe in his mother's arms. They are the easiest for him to learn and the easiest for him to remember. They are the first thing his mother teaches him to write in sloppy childish script that is nothing at all like the delicate lines adorning his skin.

_Is it any wonder_, his father says to his mother one evening, eyes infinitely fond as he watches his son painstakingly practice his penmanship on scrap pieces of parchment, pudgy fingers careful around a scraggly plume, _that these letters are his favorite?_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author**__'__**s Note**__: Please be aware that, though I've posted these parts separately on other sites, there is no easy way to denote fics in the same universe on this site other than to clutter up the summary so I made the decision to post them all here. This means that some will be about Athos/d'Artagnan, others will be about Aramis/Porthos, and others still might reference other pairings. I will clearly label which pairings feature in each part so you can skip it if you like. _

* * *

_**Benediction**__ - Aramis/Porthos_

Aramis has always loved women. He loves the taste of them, the smell of them, and the feel of them. He loves the softness of their skin, the delicate swell of their hips, and the shallow dip that curves against their collarbone.

He loves the way they curl into his touch, open and wet, slippery against his fingers. He loves the way they arch and writhe. The way they push and pull against him, sometimes coy, sometimes playful, and always so different from one another.

He loves them all, every one, and it is for this reason alone that he is astounded, astonished, and amazed when his missing mark – his Soul Mark; an answered benediction from an Almighty who is all-knowing and all-seeing – flowers late in his life and upon his skin in harsh, slanted lines that are as bold as a knife-thrust and as permanent as a bullet-scar.

'_Porthos_', it reads, and Porthos it shall be. In his heart and in his mind, until such a day that they meet and these ladies, these beauties of God's creation, are a warm memory for a cold night and nothing more or less than that. For who is he to deny the will of the most kind, most caring God?


End file.
